


call me by my name

by gly13



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Comedy, Excessive use of pet names, Getting Back Together, Hamlet - Freeform, M/M, Theatre Kids, not based on or related to cmbyn in any way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23074372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gly13/pseuds/gly13
Summary: "Hello, Darling."Donghyuck looses a heavy breath from between his teeth and stretches his lips into a strained smile."Hiya, Sweetheart."Donghyuck and Jaemin meet again and find that old habits die hard.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	call me by my name

Donghyuck’s copy of  _ Hamlet _ is thoroughly battered, well-beaten. Too-small notes scrawled in the spaces between lines in black ink that bleeds through the thin pages; dog-eared with countless round ringed coffee stains on the cover from where he’s used it as a coaster; it’s ripped and somehow still wet from that time his water bottle leaked in his bag and he dropped it into a puddle on the same day.

Needless to say, it’s his favourite book.

He’s had this copy since high school. Since he was cast in  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ , formed a deep emotional connection with it, did some wider reading and fell in love with  _ Hamlet _ as a standout even amongst all of Shakespeare’s other plays. It sits in his bag, always. His weapon arming him against rainy days and long waits at bus stops, against places with no signal and nowhere to charge his phone.

It’s loud in the lecture hall, and neither his friends or his professor have arrived yet so he pulls it out his bag, opens it to a random page, and starts reading.  _ Pirates _ . He grins.

The text is barely visible, but Donghyuck knows the words well enough that he barely even needs the physical book to read the play.

He drums his fingers on his desk, hums gently under his breath and enjoys the moment.

“That book is disgusting.”

Donghyuck closes the offending object, looks at it from various angles with an expression so overwhelmingly fond he can see Renjun pretend to gag next to him.

“It is, isn’t it?”

Renjun rolls his eyes and slumps into the seat Donghyuck’s been saving for him.

“Where’s Chenle?”

Renjun lets out a huff. “Hungover.”

Donghyuck smiles, putting his book back into his bag and pulling out his laptop instead. It’s silver, and he suppresses a snort when Renjun flinches as it catches the light.

“And you aren’t?” Donghyuck teases.

Renjun scowls. “How are you okay? You were downing Jaeger bombs like they were water and you’d been in the desert for seven years.”

“Oh wow, Injun,” Donghyuck deadpans. “What literary ability. Maybe you didn’t just take this class to spend more time with me after all.”

“Shut it. Like I’d ever want to spend more time with you, you ass.”

Donghyuck’s smile widens. “We all know that’s a lie, Junnie. But to answer your question: I’m God’s favourite and we all know that.”

Renjun beds his head on his arms atop the desk. “One of these days,” he says, and his voice is muffled but still scathing, “one of these days, I am going to slap you and not even being God’s favourite is going to stop it from hurting more than all the hangovers in the world.”

Donghyuck pats the back of Renjun’s head. “You keep saying that, and yet my face remains unslapped.”

“I’m saving it; just in case God smites me.”

Donghyuck laughs. “You just here for attendance?”

Renjun nods miserably into his arms.

“I’ll take notes for all three of us, then.”

But that’s easier said than done. Because Renjun truly couldn’t have chosen a better class to sleep in, with how utterly boring and plain the professor is. Not for the first time, Donghyuck finds himself wondering how Professor Choi can make Mark Twain boring, and finds his mind wandering beyond the droning of a begrudging professor teaching an eight am class to a lecture hall of people who would rather be anywhere else.

He finds his mind wandering to empty stages and unpainted backdrops, to unwritten scripts, and costumes that are still piles of fabric. Because this morning he’d stumbled into the room he shares with a never-present roommate, drunk off his ass and deludedly warbling show tunes, and had flicked the page on his Blue Planet calendar to reveal the stunning image of a humpback whale with  _ October _ printed in large white font across the top.

And the first of October meant one thing at SMU: the annual production announcement.

Donghyuck’s heart is unreasonably fast at just the mere thought of the reveal and maybe that’s just the ridiculous amount of caffeine and sugar he’s consumed in the form of three caramel mocha lattes with whipped cream and syrup in the last two hours but there’s reason enough to believe that at least half of it is the result of excitement and not his dying digestive system. And maybe it’s stupid for him to anticipate it so much, but he feels ‒ to some degree ‒ it’s his birthright as a theatre major.

It also doesn’t help that the head of the drama department, Doctor Yuta Nakamoto (with a PhD in mathematics: something decidedly not drama but he has enough eccentricity to more than make up for it) routinely spends the entire month of September dangling the mystery play of the year, quite literally, in front of all their faces. With teasers and curveballs and red herrings, the drama department is constantly scraping for clues and pushed to the point of insanity, but it’s part of the reason Donghyuck chose to study here in the first place and he doesn’t regret it.

He’s spaced out, staring at the loop of Professor Choi’s  _ k _ on the chalkboard, and how it looks like an elongated butterfly wing, when said professor dismisses them.

“Great notes, Hyuck,” Renjun says dryly and Donghyuck grimaces in response.

“Did you know, that you absorb information better when you’re asleep than when you’re awake? I learnt that in my psychology elective last year. So you actually probably retained much more information from your nap than my notes ever could.”

Donghyuck can tell from the unimpressed look on Renjun’s face that he’s aware everything Donghyuck has just said ‒ like most things he says ‒ is utter bullshit. But Donghyuck doubles down on it anyway.

“I also heard on this podcast‒” he thinks for a moment, “ _ So you think you can think? _ ,” he chuckles, a little (very) proud with himself, “that according to Freud‒”

“Hyuck, please kindly shut the fuck up.”

Donghyuck, of course, does nothing of the sort and continues to babble. They walk across campus with Donghyuck speaking too loudly on purpose and Renjun trying to hide the smile that keeps threatening to expose him as actually enjoying Donghyuck’s presence.

It’s a sunny day, the world still in that awkward window between late summer and early winter. When some days, the temperature will plummet and others it will soar. It’s part of the fun of it, Donghyuck thinks. The lottery of environment each day. He says this to Renjun, who pretends he doesn’t hear him.

They make it all the way to the drama room on the other side of campus without Donghyuck being beaten by Renjun which is most likely due to Renjun’s hangover making him weaker than usual, but Donghyuck considers it a success nonetheless.

Yuta is nowhere to be seen when they enter, despite having called this announcement meeting himself, though that isn’t unusual. Donghyuck had lured Renjun along with him with the promises of hot pots and green tea so he isn’t surprised when Renjun slumps himself into a corner, his head immediately dropping to his chest.

Instead, Donghyuck goes over to where Yangyang is texting angrily on his phone and his mouth is already open when the smoke appears.

It’s thick, the kind seen in house fires in movies, that Jane Eyre-esque turbid smoke with perfectly shaped clouds and artful patches of light and dark greys. It’s impressive, Donghyuck thinks, and as a silhouette emerges with slow, determined steps, he finds himself both in awe and wondering how much of their budget Yuta’s already blown on the smoke machines.

“Students,” Yuta says, in that deep baritone voice of his he always uses at these types of meetings. His face is a careful, orchestrated sombre, with wisps of smoke floating like omens of misfortune about his face. It’s almost magical, how they hang in the air under his cheekbones or around his eyes purposefully enough that it looks like he’s in command of them. Though, Yuta has always seemed to be more witch than human so Donghyuck isn’t wholly surprised.

“I have gathered you all here on this crisp Tuesday morning to tell you what you have all been waiting weeks for. This year’s play is…”

Donghyuck would be half-inclined to roll his eyes if it were any other teacher, but there’s this intrinsic quality to Yuta that captures attention and holds it in a tight, smokey grip and refuses to let go. It’s commendable, really, and Donghyuck hopes that by the time he’s finished his degree he’ll have mastered it.

Yuta lets his brief pause drag out past what can be termed as dramatic into  _ fucking hell just tell us already for god’s sake _ territory, and Donghyuck watches with amusement as Yangyang’s foot begins to tap agitatedly against the wooden flooring.

“Hamlet!”

Donghyuck’s mind goes instantly to the book at the bottom of his bag, crushed under his laptop and lever arch file and feels his heart rate accelerate to what must be upwards of a thousand miles an hour.

Hamlet. 

The immediate feeling of glee is all too-quickly replaced by anxiety and determination as he scans his eyes around the room, and hopes they all recognise what he’s trying to say.  _ Hands off, bitches. This part’s mine. _

There’s a sort of sense of destiny about it, he muses to himself. A sort of feeling that this was always going to happen that ‒ as stupid as it sounds ‒ this is the role he was born to play. And the book in his bag becomes a symbol of the prophecy foretold when he was born, an ever-present, constant foreshadowing of events yet to come that‒

“Guess all your begging finally paid off.”

Donghyuck turns to Yangyang, grinning.

“No one can resist my charms.”

Yangyang snorts. “No one can stand your high-pitched, ear-aching whining for another year, you mean.”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to retort with something about how any and all sounds that come out of his mouth are musical and a blessing on the ears of whoever hears it but is cut off by Yuta.

“But! With a twist! And I’m not talking about Oliver.”

There’s a groan from nearly everyone present besides Donghyuck. Dongyuck doesn’t know what he feels then. He really should have seen this coming but, blinded by his joy, he had forgotten. ‘Twists’ in Yuta’s sense of the word are never good.

‘Twists’ are rock versions of all the songs in  _ Les Mis _ and ballad, era-appropriate versions of  _ Six _ in traditional Tudor outfits. ‘Twists’ are robots instead of puppets in  _ Avenue Q _ and puppets instead of robots in his theatre adaptation of  _ Robots _ . ‘Twists’ are a retelling of  _ Alice in Wonderland _ that takes place entirely in a nightclub under the influence of MDMA, which Yuta insisted you had to go method for (as a joke, of course, but he was still reprimanded by the university). ‘Twists’ don’t tend to be good, is the point.

And sure, they’re adventurous and new and captivating and everyone always loves them but they do, somewhat by definition, completely ignore and ruin the source material for any subsequent viewing. And Donghyuck’s not sure if he wants that for his favourite play.

He holds his breath and prays for the best.

“A modern version of Shakespeare’s classic play,” okay not too bad so far, “with emphasis on the homoerotism between Hamlet and Horatio,” easy, Donghyuck starts to breathe a little, “weaving in elements of Peter Pan,” Donghyuck’s heart falters for a moment but he powers through; he would survive that, “with some portions of the play incorporating matrix ‒ both the movie and the mathematical theorem,” Donghyuck wasn’t sure he knew quite how to breathe anymore, and Yuta hadn’t even finished yet, “and the majority of the play will be set in a Walmart after hours.”

Yuta finishes with a flourish and grin that stretches just a little too wide. His eyes are almost entirely black and his hands are held out mid-air in a perpetual ‘jazz’ motion.

“You okay, dude? You look a little purple.”

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck chokes out. He sniffs a little. “Walmart. I’m sure that’s exactly what‒” he sniffs harder, holds onto Yangyang for balance, “‒ exactly what Shakespeare envisioned when he crafted the best play ever written. Walmart and the Matrix.”

Yangyang snickers. “Shakespeare was high off his ass most of the time, and half his works are dick jokes, Hyuck. He would have loved Prof. Nakamoto’s twists.”

“Lies,” Hyuck hisses. He’d pretend to faint if he weren’t so sure Yangyang wouldn’t even bother to try and catch him.

Yangyang rolls his eyes and Donghyuck resists the urge to slap him very dramatically. He looks over to see Renjun laughing at him from the floor and shoots his best friend a derisive look.

“So, Donghyuck,” Yukhei says, suddenly right next to him and a slimy smile on his face. “Since all these twists are like totally ruining your favourite play and it’ll probably tarnish your soul to participate, I’m guessing you’ll be sitting it out this year?”

Donghyuck immediately sobers up from his melodrama and stands to his full height. He’s still shorter than Yukhei but that’s not a problem.

“You wish, bitch. This is my role. I  _ am  _ the prince of Denmark.” The words hang in the air, poignant until Donghyuck remembers the circumstances. “Or Walmart,” he corrects himself. “The Matrix. Neverland?” He shakes his head, deciding accuracy isn’t worth it. “The point is: hands off it, you greedy second-rate actor.”

Maybe it could be seen as harsh, but everyone here knows, so it doesn’t matter.

Everyone knows that Donghyuck and Yukhei’s rivalry goes back to their first audition at the university, and has followed them through all choir solos and famous monologues and even kick-line positions.

It’s a more even playing field than Donghyuck would like to admit, and that just makes him even angrier and even more motivated because he hadn’t been lying. Hamlet  _ is _ his part. And no one could say otherwise.

But Yukhei had gotten the main part in the summer musical ‒ a rendition of  _ Cats _ with dogs instead in honour of Yuta’s pet dog, Rapunzel ‒ and Donghyuck was still bitter about it. The only upside is that he’s heard Yukhei has apparently joined one of the dance societies and that means less time for play rehearsal which is a point in Donghyuck’s favour.

It isn’t even that he dislikes Yukhei; they’re good friends. Yukhei has bought Donghyuck too much food for Donghyuck to ever hate him; he’s an integral member of their monthly movie nights, and the two of them wore couple costumes last year at Halloween (Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable). But they leave all of that at the door to the rehearsal room in favour of death glares and silent threats and actual spoken threats, too.

It’s a childish thing and they both know it, but they’re too far in to back out now, and the pair of them take it as seriously as life and death. 

Yukhei chuckles and claps Donghyuck on the shoulder. It’s stupidly painful from Yukhei’s stupidly big muscles and Donghyuck has to summon years of acting lessons to resist the urge to bulk under the force.

“We’ll see, Hyuckie. Break a leg.” Yukhei makes to turn around but stops himself before his back is fully facing Donghyuck to fix him with a too-wide grin and Donghyuck knows what’s coming before it does. “Though, don’t  _ actually _ break your leg this time.”

Donghyuck growls at the memory of his _Bring It On_ _/ Newsies_ audition gone wrong in 2018 before schooling his face into a sickly sweet smile. In his defense, it had made him perfect for Crutchie.

“Watch your mouth, Wong. Or I might just have to break your leg for you.”

Yukhei laughs. “See you at lunch? Dejun’s working the cafe today.”

“Of course,” Donghyuck says. “I wouldn’t miss my free frappe for the world.”

  
  
  


Donghyuck breathes in deeply, inhaling the essence of his surroundings. The air feels light in his lungs, and he lets it meander around in the playground of alveoli there before exhaling, and letting himself deflate.

His hands are balanced delicately atop his knees, and he’s sitting cross-legged with his feet tucked right up against either thigh. His mind is carefully blank, concentrating only on the gentle balance of the universe around him, the energy of the world emanating from the pores of the galaxy.

“Um… Hyuck, what the fuck are you doing?”

Donghyuck’s eyes shoot open in annoyance, and he blinks a little as the Walmart comes into focus around him. He finds Renjun leaning on the shelf in front of him, arms crossed and looking distinctly unimpressed and even a little disgusted. Donghyuck understands why. Walmart floors don’t tend to be the cleanest places in the world.

“Meditating, Renjun,” Donghyuck huffs. “Quite obviously. At least I  _ was _ .”

“On the floor of Walmart.”

Donghyuck sighs heavily. “I’m trying to get into character. Soak up the atmosphere of Walmart until it’s basically my home so that I can truly capture the lifeblood of Yuta’s new Hamlet.”

Renjun’s face doesn’t change in the slightest.

“I need to understand my character and how he lives to portray him to the best of my ability.”

“You’re saying that like you’ve already got the part.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You need to visualise the goal and be confident in winning if you want to succeed, Renjun. I’ve told you all this before.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve read your Instagram captions. And your birthday cards.”

“Besides, I’m sure Yukhei would never think of doing this. I am so going to connect with the role more than him.”

Donghyuck glares at the can of dog food on the shelf opposite him, imagining it’s Yukhei’s crushed face when Yuta puts up the cast list

“Donghyuck, I’m only saying this because you’re my best friend and I love you, but you worry me sometimes.”

Donghyuck locks eyes with Renjun and grins a grin he perfected for if he ever got cast as a villain in a thriller and relishes in the way Renjun flinches slightly.

“Good.”

Donghyuck shuts his eyes, and goes back to focusing on becoming familiar with the scent of Walmart.

  
  


Donghyuck’s doing lunges on the way to the auditorium, exaggeratedly breathing out on each one, and Renjun and Chenle are pretending not to know who he is. Donghyuck pays their embarrassment no mind. Yuta’s auditions are notoriously sporadic and random, and he is not about to lose Hamlet because he was caught out and didn’t fucking stretch.

“This is your role, Hyuck,” his pre-recorded affirmations chant in his ears from his airpods, and he comes back up from his lunge. He sinks back down again. “You were born for this.” He comes back up. “Don’t let that bitch Yukhei take it from you. Nothing is going to stop you from claiming what’s yours.”

He stops just in front of the tall, wooden doors and draws himself up to his full height. He pulls out his airpods, cutting off his own voice and stuffs them in his pocket. He breathes out slowly and clicks his neck.

“Break a leg, Duckie,” Chenle chirps from behind him, and Donghyuck shoots him a smile.

He pushes the door open.

They give way to a familiar scene, the theatre majors and members of drama club as well as people from the student body who just want to try their hand at acting are littered about, chattering excitedly. Yuta is, as always, nowhere to be seen and Yukhei immediately begins to make his way over, clearly looking to instigate their traditional pre-audition diss battle.

But Donghyuck doesn’t see any of it.

All he sees is a boy taller than him with light brown hair and a camera slung around his neck. With tan skin and a smile that could melt the ice caps, talking to one of Yukhei’s friends, Mark. A boy whose sudden appearance in Donghyuck’s life makes his heart lurch in his chest and his stomach simultaneously drop to his feet and leap into his throat.

He’s half-sure he’s not breathing, too fixated on watching as the boy pushes long fingers through his head of fluffy hair when he’s jolted back into reality by the feeling of Renjun pinching his side.

“Hyuck? What the hell?” He follows Donghyuck’s line of sight and Donghyuck would see the confused frown on his face if he could bear to prise his gaze from the boy across the room for even a moment. “Who’s that?”

Donghyuck ignores the question, but is grateful that it pulls him out of his own mind enough to force his legs ‒ shaky and unstable ‒ to start making his way through the crowd. His heart is loud in his ears but he’s driven by instinct to get closer, even as his logic screams at him to stop.

He’s only a few paces away when the boy finally looks up, and Donghyuck looks Jaemin in the eyes for the first time in four years.

If he weren’t so occupied with regulating his breathing, he’d notice how the eye contact sends something electric through his veins, pulls the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck to stand at attention, his toes to curl. He’d notice how his heart stutters in his chest and how his throat closes up, grows tight.

He might even notice how ‒ for a split-second ‒ Jaemin looks just as shocked, just as terrified.

Donghyuck draws to a stop in front of Jaemin and fixes his face into something cool, neutral. He prays Jaemin can’t still read him as well as he used to be able to. 

It’s quiet for a moment as Jaemin’s conversation dies and they look at each other. Donghyuck watches as Jaemin blinks and clears his throat, his eyes becoming guarded and mouth pulling into a cold smile.

“Hello, Darling,” Jaemin says. His voice is deeper than it was when they spoke last, and it ignites some emotion in Donghyuck that he hasn’t felt in so long ‒ perhaps ever ‒ and can’t name.

Donghyuck looses a heavy breath from between his teeth and stretches his lips into a strained smile.

“Hiya, Sweetheart.”

He can feel Renjun, Chenle, and Mark staring between them in confusion and a protective hand come to rest on his back in silent support. Donghyuck’s grateful; he’s almost certain he’ll need it.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here, Babe,” Donghyuck grits out.

Jaemin cocks his head to the side, pushing his hands into his pockets and Donghyuck hates how attractive it makes him look when he’s still so angry. Because Jaemin has invaded his space: the theatre, practically his second home and he has no right to look as nonchalant as he does.

Jaemin’s smile would look sweet to anyone else, but Donghyuck sees the devilish tint to it. The reddish glow from his soul that permeates into his features, paints them with that same unsettling aura that has Donghyuck wanting to back away slowly before he can make a decision he’ll regret.

“I could say the same thing, Doll Face.” Donghyuck grimaces at the way the pet name makes his skin crawl and immediately regrets it when Jaemin’s smile grows with satisfaction. “Though I guess I should have known you wouldn’t have been able to resist the call of Hamlet,” Jaemin pauses then to give Donghyuck a deliberate look and Donghyuck feels some strange mix of fury and sadness swarm his thoughts, “even if it is set in a Walmart.”

Donghyuck crosses his arms over his chest, mainly to stop them from shaking at his sides, and Jaemin’s gaze is entirely too knowing for him to be comfortable.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think, Duckie? I’m auditioning for the play.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I go here now, Pumpkin.”

Donghyuck feels his breaths like lead in his lungs and it’s only thanks to his in-built inability to express emotion in public that he doesn’t start weeping on the spot. His mind is in disarray, a pandemonium of anxiety throughout which the only constant is the cause for it:  _ Jaemin is here, Jaemin will be a part of everyday life, Jaemin’s back. _

He blinks. Hard. As though that’ll make him sit up straight in bed, still sweating from this nightmare. He needs to get out; he still needs to audition and he can’t do that if he’s obsessing over someone who doesn’t deserve the time of day. He needs this role.

“Good luck, Bunny,” he says and it’s a miracle he manages to remain sounding haughty when everything feels like it’s collapsing inside of him. Like his bones are fracturing under the weight of Jaemin’s gaze and what it means. “I’m rooting for you to get Cornelius.”

He shoots Jaemin a wink and blows him a kiss, more to disguise the crushing stress that’s pushing him closer by the second to a premature heart attack, and turns on his heel before he can catch Jaemin’s reaction, sure that it will send his blood pressure through the roof.

Renjun and Chenle are right behind him, and they remain ‒ thankfully ‒ silent until they get to the furthest corner of the auditorium. The air around Donghyuck feels too cold, dense. But the air in his lungs and clogging up his throat is thick and hot and there’s a burning behind his eyes as he rapidly blinks them.

He can feel eyes boring into his back; the room is suspiciously quiet for this amount of people, and if the way Renjun and Chenle’s eyes keep flitting to looking at him with stark worry to behind him with annoyance is anything to go by, he’s sure that everyone’s staring. He doesn’t care. He only cares about what one person thinks at this moment, and hates himself for it.

His friends allow him a few moments to calm himself down, regulate his breathing and his heartbeat before they start the questions.

“You gonna tell us who he is now?”

“My ex.”

“Your ex?” Renjun looks confused for a moment, squinting at him slightly. He’s met most of Donghyuck's exes ‒ had seen most of the relationships through their entire lifespan ‒ but Jaemin’s face is new. Donghyuck wishes that were the case for him, too. Recognition comes into Renjun’s eyes like a lightning strike. “Oh.  _ Oh. _ ”

Chenle, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, lowers his voice to speak. “He’s Jaemin?”

Donghyuck nods miserably.

“Oh shit.”

Donghyuck agrees. Oh shit, indeed.

“I mean,” Renjun pauses, like he’s not sure if what he’s about to say is particularly emotionally sensitive. He barrels on anyway, as is his nature. “We might have known that ourselves and been able to help you if you’d actually, you know. Said his name. At any point during that entire conversation.”

“Yeah,” Chenle says, “what’s with all the nicknames?”

Donghyuck pushes out a rough breath of air from between his teeth and rubs the heels of his palms over his eyes.

“I don’t know. We did it before we started dating to like, make fun of all those cutesy pet names people use. And it became this competition between us to see who could be cringier. And then we got together and they actually started to sound cute.” He blanches at the thought. “And then we broke up and we used them to mock and annoy each other. Like, hearing him call me those things now just makes my skin crawl.”

“Right.” Renjun doesn’t look convinced, but Donghyuck doesn’t know why. It’s the truth. “That makes sense.”

“So, you’re exes, but you still call each other with cute pet names… out of hatred? Do you not think that’s weird?” 

Donghyuck nods. “It’s gross for sure. To hear him call me,” he shudders theatrically, “ _ baby,  _ is possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever felt. But we’re both petty and I’m sure it makes him feel the same way, so I’m not backing down.”

Chenle and Renjun share a look.

“You keep that up,” Chenle says. “I’m sure it’s healthy.”

“It’s not about being healthy, Le; it’s about winning.”

“It’s been, like, four years.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Glory is eternal.”

Renjun shakes his head, a little in disbelief. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.” There’s something like derision in his voice but also something like awe. Donghyuck chooses to focus on that.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t completed my warm-up exercises yet as I was rudely interrupted by  _ that _ .”

He looks over to where Jaemin’s standing, looking wholly unbothered, and the image makes his blood boil. Jaemin’s still talking to Mark, but now Yukhei’s joined them and that just makes the anger in the pit of Donghyuck’s stomach grow until it’s a fiery hot mess that’s swallowed all his organs.

Donghyuck walks off under the pretense of continuing his warm ups, loudly enunciating his way through the vows to distract from the dark, murderous look he’s sure is clouding over his face. He needs to save all of that energy for the second act; he can’t afford to waste it all now.

He’s in the middle of rolling his jaw and is about to move onto jiggling his tongue in his skull to loosen it when the room is dropped into pitch-black darkness. Donghyuck rolls his shoulders back and pulls himself up to his full height.

It’s beginning.

A single candle is lit from the depths of the darkness that has otherwise consumed the hall, and it illuminates Yuta’s face and not a single thing else. It’s unsettling, and Donghyuck has to bite back the shiver that threatens to run up his spine like the thin, spindly legs of a spider.

Yuta pulls the candle further away from his face to reveal what Donghyuck hopes is a fake human skull nestled in the palm of his other hand. Donghyuck feels excitement buzz through him, vibrate each separate particle of his body in chaotic anticipation. This is it. He will earn the right to that skull, to Hamlet.

“Welcome all, to the playground of the Bard. Our first endeavour into the works of the greatest playwright of all time. Hamlet is widely considered the most difficult of his plays to perform, but I think we have never had a better cast to attempt it.”

Yuta’s eyes flit around the room, and Donghyuck ‒ even though he knows Yuta cannot possibly see him in the darkness ‒ is sure that Yuta’s eyes meet his for just a beat too long to have been coincidental.

“But before you launch into your basic, pre-prepared ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquies, we must learn to rid Hamlet from your preconceived notions of him, tear him down to his base as a character, and build him up again in his new setting: Walmart! We must embrace the essence, capture how Walmart differs from the majestic landscape of Denmark and analyse how he is different but also the same at the core to the one with which the world is familiar.”

If Donghyuck could see, and had the slightest bearings, he would have shot Renjun the cockiest look he could muster. As it is, all he can do is continue to stare at Yuta and summon his Walmart training from where it lies ready to be called upon in his bones.

Maybe it’s his imagination, maybe it’s something supernatural, but Donghyuck can swear he feels eyes on him. And whether it’s Yukhei or Jaemin or someone else, he stares back into the shadows and hopes they’re prepared to face what’s coming.

Auditions are strenuous, but Donghyuck had expected nothing less from Yuta.

They pass in a blur; one second he’s pretending to mop floors while in role as one of the lost boys, and the next he’s acting as a Target employee getting into a Matrix-inspired fight with Yukhei who’s playing a Walmart employee.

It’s far too much fun for how serious Donghyuck was earlier, but that’s part of what he loves about theatre. It’s light-hearted and playful but life or death at the same time. He supposes that’s what happens when you take fifty or so caffeine-addicted, stressed university students with a desperate need for attention, put them in a room together and tell them to fight for the limelight. 

He lives for the thrill of it.

He’s finished his fourth round, having completed four laps of the hall whilst pirouetting and reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy from Act 1 Scene 2 in a southern accent when it all comes crashing down.

“Okay!” Yuta calls, looking suspiciously like a gym teacher with his clipboard a whistle. The lights are on now, because without them the entire situation would have been a hazard and the university cannot afford the number of would-be impending lawsuits had it continued. “You’ve all done amazingly so far. Now onto our more ‘traditional’ portion of the audition.”

He calls them up in groups of two or three, giving them each a different scene from some random play and Donghyuck sees instantly what he’s doing. He’s not quite sure how Yuta’s managed it from just the activities they’ve been doing for the last two hours or so ‒ maybe some hidden sixth sense that allows Yuta to tap into any acting potential a person might have from their ability to shuffle a deck of cards while singing a sailor’s song ‒ but Donghyuck has learned over the years not to underestimate it.

Donghyuck can feel each group fit easily into the role Yuta’s given them to act out, can feel Yuta weighing up their strengths and weaknesses and sorting them while still looking attentive. It’s impressive. Though he’s not surprised. There’s a reason he looks up to Yuta as much as he does.

“Okay, now for our usual suspects,” Yuta says, and Donghyuck starts to stand up. They all know what’s coming. “Donghyuck Lee, Yukhei Wong, and our newcomer Jaemin Na.”

Donghyuck almost forgets how to walk but luckily Renjun pushes him just a little too hard and that jolts maneuverability back into his legs. He walks on shaky legs to the stage, and sends a quick prayer of thanks to god when his knees don’t buckle on his way up the stairs.

He was prepared for his audition to be with Yukhei, because it always is. It’s always the two of them duking it out in an intense scene for the star role. It’s tradition.

It’s the reason the auditions have so many spectators, and betting pools, and  _ Team Lee  _ or  _ Team Wong _ t-shirts and baseball caps. There’s even a running forfeit depending on who gets voted the best (announcing the other as the better actor at a frat party whilst wearing their face on a t-shirt). It’s their thing.

And it’s borderline insulting that Jaemin, like a zombie corpse, has dug himself out of where Donghyuck has buried him in his memory and infected one of the sacred traditions he’s made for himself here in his new life with the past. It makes this dark, dense, ugly emotion crawl around in his gut and twist its way into his blood.

It’s anger and it’s betrayal and sadness and a whole host of other things he can’t be bothered to decipher. Mostly, it’s confusion. And that’s all that he lets be show on his face when he looks over to Yuta, who Donghyuck knows anticipates his and Yukhei’s battle just as much as anyone.

Yuta raises an eyebrow in a practised motion, signalling for Donghyuck to trust his judgement and, usually, Donghyuck would trust Yuta with anything ‒ especially drama related ‒ but not when Jaemin is in front of him and he’s having to focus all the energy he should be using to decimate Yukhei with his superior acting skills into pushing down years of unresolved emotions.

Renjun and Chenle look nervous enough for all of them, though, and he pushes through it. Because he’ll be damned if Jaemin Na will saunter into Donghyuck’s life and upturn everything. He’s better than that now. And he repeats that like a mantra in his head as Yuta gives him a script.

Donghyuck has played many parts in his life, but trying to act unbothered by Jaemin’s sudden appearance in his life is the most difficult by far. He wonders if he’s being too obvious by avoiding even looking in his direction then decides he doesn’t care, so long as he can prevent his heart from breaking out of his chest at least until he’s finished the scene.

His eyes scan over the words and he lets the role of his chosen character settle over him with a deep breath. It’s easier to pretend to be okay when Jaemin isn’t Jaemin and Donghyuck isn’t himself.

Yukhei opens the scene and Donghyuck is thankful for how easy it is to slip into character. It’s probably some combination of years of training, the familiarity of giving his all when acting opposite Yukhei, and determination and stubbornness that helps him through the first half. It’s the second where problems start to arise.

“You’re being selfish,” Jaemin says, his eyes boring into Donghyuck’s. And there’s something just a little too real ‒ just a little too reminiscent of an argument from years ago ‒ for it to just be acting, for Donghyuck to be comfortable. “You always are! You don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Not all of us can live as a doormat.” Donghyuck feels the words come alive on his tongue like the ghost of his past self is saying them. “Some of us care about our own futures, and don’t just obsess over pathetic little things.”

“You’re calling me obsessive?” Jaemin bites out. “That is rich coming from‒”

“Guys, cut it out.” Yukhei’s voice is powerful and Donghyuck is pulled back to the present, forcefully reminded of the audience around them and the piece of paper crinkling in his hand.

One tentative glance at Jaemin is enough to know he’s not alone in feeling that.

Yukhei stands between the two of them, gaze flitting back and forth before he finally turns his back to Jaemin, effectively taking his side. And Donghyuck knows it’s all an act, has read the words on his own identical copy of the script, but the situation feels so familiar and he feels so alienated and unwanted that the burning sensation in his eyes isn’t at all fabricated.

“Fine,” he spits, and hates how bitter it sounds in his own ears. Sure, he’s probably earning points as an actor but he resents feeling this way. It feels like regression and having Jaemin there, staring at him from just behind Yukhei with cruel satisfaction so at home in his eyes Donghyuck can’t tell if it’s real or fake, just makes it worse, and feeds humiliation into his skin alongside the anger and the sadness. Because he never wanted to feel like this again, had promised himself he wouldn’t. But Jaemin can drag it all out from where it’s hidden in his mind with no more than a few words.

“Take his side; I don’t give a shit.” He levels them with a look. “I didn’t want to join your stupid D&D campaign anyway.”

It’s only silent for a moment before the hall erupts into cheers. Donghyuck looks away from Jaemin in an instant, letting the stupidity of the final line remind him that it’s all fake. It’s over now. And that’s all that matters.

The vote is a Twitter poll on the drama department’s official account and it’s close but Donghyuck wins. And that should be enough to make him happy, but it’s not. Because it didn’t feel for a moment like he was actually acting.

  
  


His top priority in the window between auditions and the cast list being put up is to avoid Jaemin.

Renjun calls it cowardly and tells him he’s being stupid and to face Jaemin head-on, show him that he’s moved on. But Donghyuck knows himself and knows he won’t be able to stop himself from a full-on bitch fight if Jaemin happens to catch him off-guard.

He’s not scared or sad or whatever, he just knows himself and, regrettably, Jaemin too well.

And he knows that from the pet names, it goes into personal insults and throwing the past in each other’s face and before they know it, they’re both so far over the line they’ve practically done a lap around the globe. And Donghyuck doesn’t want to be that person.

But Donghyuck should really know better than to think the world will let him sit in his dorm eating ice cream and listening to the  _ Spring Awakening  _ (his comfort musical) soundtrack at maximum volume.

“Hey there, Beautiful.”

Donghyuck spins around.

Jaemin’s hair is black now and Donghyuck forces himself not to oggle, no matter how prince-like it makes him look. Not a thing about Jaemin is charming, he tells himself.

“Oh hello, Angel,” he gives back without missing a beat. It’s like falling into an old dance routine, playing this game with Jaemin. Like muscle memory is pulling him through each step even as his mind retreats into a frenzy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You looked lonely,” Jaemin says bluntly and Donghyuck resists the urge to scowl, unwilling to let Jaemin get to him. “Thought I’d keep you company, Gumdrop.”

“You make me feel even lonelier,” Donghyuck deadpans. “You don’t count as company; you’re like negative a person.”

Jaemin laughs, grating and too loud. Donghyuck tells him as such but it only makes him laugh harder.

“You do certainly have a way with people, Cupcake.”

Donghyuck forces himself to look Jaemin square in the eyes, and ignores how loud his heartbeat is in his ears. “What do you want?”

“No nickname? I’m hurt.” Jaemin clutches at his heart and pouts exaggeratedly. When Donghyuck doesn’t respond, Jaemin’s face forgoes the pretence and drops into something much more neutral.

“I came to say that I didn’t audition for the play just to spite you.” Donghyuck opens his mouth to lie and say that he hadn’t thought that, but Jaemin continues over him. “And don’t pretend you weren’t thinking that; you might hate to admit it but I know you. And I hate to admit it, but you know me, too. And you know I’m petty but I auditioned because I love acting, and I hope you still know that.”

Donghyuck huffs and looks away. “What does it matter to me why you auditioned? What do you matter to me?”

If Jaemin’s hurt, he doesn’t show it. But he’s always been better at hiding his emotions than Donghyuck. “Because if we both get cast, I don’t want it to be awkward.”

Donghyuck snorts. “Because that’s possible, oh light of my life.”

“Sunshine,” Jaemin says, and Donghyuck hates how this feels so much more personal all of a sudden. Because that was his special name. The name whispered like a gentle breeze into the darkness that befell after a day of treasured memories. The name the Jaemin of years ago had breathed into the tiny gap of space between their lips with such reverence that past Donghyuck had had no option but to fall in love, deep and intoxicating.

He’s reminded of how Jaemin would trace the mole under his eye, call him ‘human sunshine’, buy him sunflowers on every date and after every performance. He’s reminded of that soft look in Jaemin’s eyes that he used to accept as part of everyday life, but seems so far away it’s practically a fairy-tale now.

And Donghyuck had taken it and shaped it into his identity.  _ Haechan _ his Instagram username reads;  _ Fullsun _ is stitched into the strap of his bag; a sunflower tattoo decorates his inner wrist.

He doesn’t like it now. Doesn’t like being reminded of where such a huge part of him originated. It feels wrong, makes his blood draw to a stop in his veins.

Subconsciously, he pulls down the sleeve of his jumper.

“I’m trying to be mature,” Jaemin says.

“Yeah, well it’s not a good look on you.” That’s a lie. Maturity is a good look on everyone. Especially Jaemin with his dark hair and defined jawline, set in a hard square.

Jaemin smiles like he can see right through him, but doesn’t say anything.

“Please don’t be childish, Petal. I’d hate for me to be the reason you don’t enjoy your dream role. I don’t like you, but I care about you too much to forgive myself for that.”

Donghyuck swallows. The words ache like a long-lost pain in the left side of his chest.

“Can’t I just hate you? Even a little? We’re supposed to, right? I mean,” he turns to look at Jaemin again because he needs the truth, “don’t you hate me, too?”

Jaemin gives it over easily; he shrugs. “A little. I’m not sure if I hate you as you are now, though.”

“Can I just be a little childish for a little longer?” Donghyuck hates how small his voice sounds. But it’s always been a little too easy to be vulnerable around Jaemin.

“Sure,” Jaemin says. “Do you mind if I do the same?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “We’ll both be immature. Together. We deserve it, I think.”

Jaemin smiles, but it looks wrong. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t feel like it’s his place and Donghyuck’s thankful when he stays silent because it’s not. Jaemin doesn’t get to know him.

“Maturity does tend to be dreadfully dull,” he says instead, mirth coming bright into his eyes in the second Donghyuck takes to blink.

“I couldn’t agree more, Snowflake.”

Jaemin laughs. “Good to be on the same page, Buttercup.”

  
  


It’s a bit of a weird situation, but it could be worse. There’s no instruction manual on how to deal with your ex. Well, there probably is but it most likely exists as a Buzzfeed listicle of some sort and Donghyuck’s not that desperate quite yet.

But, despite there not really being much for him to go off on, he still feels that having a conversation with your ex to establish how you’re going to behave to each other most likely goes against most advice the Internet could give.

But it’s easier this way. To slip into resentment like a second skin. To make fun of Jaemin, retort to his snappy comments and top it all off with a mocking nickname. It’s second nature. It feels like cool relief after the crushing uncertainty that comes with seeing your first love for the first time after the break up. The peaceful sea after a storm. If only he’d known it was just the eye.

Yuta, as forward-thinking, bordering on radical as he is, is still remarkably old-fashioned in some aspects.

Which is why Donghyuck, along with every other auditionee, is crowded around the noticeboard outside the auditorium at five to twelve in the afternoon when he really should be sleeping. He’s got his copy of Hamlet secured in his bag, and he prayed to it an hour ago for luck. The fingers on his left hand are crossed and he’s chanting silently in his head for the part.

Yuta emerges, seemingly out of nowhere at noon on the dot, and Donghyuck cranes his neck to see what’s written on the sheet of paper clasped in his hand. He can’t see anything with the way Yuta’s holding it, of course, but it’s tradition. And everyone else is doing it too, as though knowing a few seconds earlier will change what it reveals.

Yuta presses the sheet of paper against the notice board, pushing a drawing pin through the top of the page so it stays there, and disappears a second later.

Donghyuck’s eyes take a moment to focus on the words, and then scan across the list of his name. It shouldn’t take him as long as it does to find his name, though, because it’s right at the top.

_ Hamlet ‒ Donghyuck Lee _

Donghyuck feels every emotion all at once. His entire being becomes a mess, a blender full of ecstasy and happiness and anticipation and everything else that someone’s forgetten to put the lid on.

He’s speechless but he’s buzzing, like every part of him is rejoicing simultaneously. He stares at the three words like they’re the only words in his own personal Bible, his own personal words of salvation. That in the midst of all the turmoil of Jaemin reappearing again, he’s still somehow achieved his lifelong dream.

He thinks about getting them tattooed. Somewhere personal and intimate like over his heart, or somewhere obvious and loud like right across his forehead. He thinks about legally changing his name or finally learning how to drive just so he can get a car with a personalised license plate.

He needs to call his mum. He fumbles to get his hand into his pocket and find his phone when a hand wraps around his wrist. He follows the attached arm with his eyes until he reaches Renjun, who’s looking at him with a weird expression.

Donghyuck’s confused, but still elated enough to beam at his friend. He’s opening his mouth, taking probably longer than he should to form a sentence that accurately conveys his feelings that isn’t just an elongated screech when Renjun’s gaze morphs into something distinctly worried, and Donghyuck realises that Renjun isn’t looking at him anymore. Rather. He’s looking behind Donghyuck’s head, where Donghyuck knows the cast list is.

Donghyuck spins faster than he ever has in years of dance experience and stares once more at the cast list. And he’s terrified, panicked that he’s somehow read it wrong, or hallucinated or there’s a  _ SIKE!  _ written somewhere on the page or, God forbid, Yuta’s decided the role of Hamlet is too big for one person and has decided to split it between him and Yukhei.

He pans his eyes down the list.

_ Hamlet ‒ Lee Donghyuck _ is still there, unchanging and real.

_ Claudius ‒ Yukhei Wong _ is next and Donghyuck breathes out slowly.

Then his eyes move to the next line and everything around him stops for the second time that week.

_ Horatio ‒ Jaemin Na _

Donghyuck blinks, hoping it’s a nightmare, wishing it’s a lie. Yuta’s words from the play announcement ring in his head like a particularly obnoxious bell and he feels his stomach drop all the way through the earth. It feels cruel, like some distant God is laughing very hard at what can only be a cosmic joke, played on Donghyuck as punishment for being an atheist.

Suddenly, Renjun’s look makes sense even though nothing else does.

He tears his eyes away from the cast list because they make his eyes burn and tries to look for something that might stop everything from seeming too loud and quiet and much all at once.

Instead, they find the one thing that makes it impossibly worse.

Jaemin’s already looking at him and that pushes Donghyuck away from whatever else he might be feeling into pure anger. It’s an easier emotion to feel.

He storms through the group of students still crowded around the noticeboard heads straight for the auditorium where he knows Yuta will be. He’s acting on instinct, driven purely by emotion. So much so that he doesn’t even hear the footsteps following after him.

He bursts in through the doors and Yuta looks up at him like he’s been expecting him, which he probably has. What he most likely didn’t expect, are the next words out of Donghyuck’s mouth.

“Why isn’t Yukhei Horatio?”

“What?”

Donghyuck breathes out heavily. “Why have you cast Jaemin Na as Horatio?”

“Oh.” Yuta looks surprised. “Because I think he’s perfect for the role. Don’t you?”

“Obviously not,” Donghyuck grits out.

“I think he is,” calls a voice from behind Donghyuck and he turns around to see Jaemin strolling over to them, hands in his pocket. He looks at Donghyuck when he says, “I’ve always wanted to play Horatio.”

That shuts Donghyuck up, mainly because he knows it’s true.

“I feel like there’s just this raw chemistry between the two of you,” Yuta says, and Donghyuck pulls his gaze away Jaemin to stare at him incredulously. “I think it suits the dynamic perfectly and I’d really like to explore that on stage.”

Donghyuck doesn’t really have much to say to that. It’s a rare occurrence but he feels that pushing it further opens himself up to too much probing and openness and he’s not about to put himself through that. So he does what Renjun is constantly telling him to do and shuts his mouth.

Jaemin looks surprised for a moment before he replaces the emotion with his usual cockiness.

Donghyuck swallows every word of hatred he could throw at Jaemin in favour of choosing to be a little mature, and focus on the positives like the podcast he listened to last night told him to do.

“Thanks for the role, Yuta. It’s a literal dream come true.” He’s not exaggerating; he’s dreamt about being Hamlet too many times to count.

Yuta’s expression softens and Donghyuck’s not sure if he imagines it, but he thinks Jaemin’s might do, too. He pushes that thought to the back of his mind because he doesn’t like the butterflies it spawns in his stomach. “Like I’d even think of casting anyone else, Hyuck. You’re the entire reason we’re doing Hamlet in the first place.”

Donghyuck guffaws. “So what was the point in making me audition.”

Yuta shrugs. “Because you looked very funny.”

“Right. Thanks again.” Donghyuck turns to leave, not sparing Jaemin another glance. He’s not sure he’d be able to take it if he did.

He’s almost through the door when he collides with something solid and he looks up to see Yukhei smiling down at him.

Yukhei reaches out to steady Donghyuck on his feet and then holds out a hand. Donghyuck takes it and shakes it twice.

“Congratulations, Hyuck,” Yukhei says, smile so bright and genuine it almost makes Donghyuck wince. “We all knew it was your part from the moment Yuta announced it. You deserve it.”

Donghyuck feels a smile stretch across his face, and his ears feel warm. “Still tried to take it from me, though?” He cocks an eyebrow.

Yukhei laughs. “Of course. What kind of rival would I be if I didn’t?.”

“Congrats on Claudius. You’ll be amazing.”

“Thanks. Watch your back next year, Lee.”

“Just try it, Wong; I dare you.”

Yukhei walks off with a laugh and Donghyuck’s about to finally exit the auditorium when morbid, stupid curiosity compells him to turn around.

Yukhei’s standing too close to Jaemin, and Jaemin’s smiling in a way Donghyuck hasn’t seen for a long time. That perfect, timeless smile of his that takes Donghyuck back to days spent messing around backstage and messed up lines, that takes him back to  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ and cold autumn days spent hiding in a blanket fort of their own creation and pretending nothing else existed.

Donghyuck belatedly realises he’s been grinding his teeth, and that his nails are digging into the flesh of his palm.

He can tell Yukhei’s congratulating Jaemin by the way Jaemin ducks his head to hide the inevitable pink dusting his cheeks, and pushes a hand through his hair in a nervous motion.

And Donghyuck has beaten Yukhei, gotten the role and the Twitter poll. He’s reigned victorious over his rival and it’s all Donghyuck has wanted for a long time. He’s won.

But standing here, looking at Yukhei and Jaemin, it doesn’t feel a lot like winning.

  
  


The vodka burns as it runs down his throat. The glass makes an ugly noise as he slams it against the table and it’s only been a second but the alcohol hasn’t hit him yet so he demands another and downs that just as quickly.

His head is buzzing and he feels removed from reality, like the party’s happening around him and he’s just stood in the middle of it all like some sort of spirit. He doesn’t mind it. He’s not entirely sure if he wants to really be here, so this is a nice compromise.

He chugs another drink before Renjun snatches it out of his hand and leads him to the dancefloor.

Donghyuck whines but Renjun shuts him up easily.

“That’s enough for now, Hyuckie. You love dancing so let’s do that.”

It’s loud and stuffy and crowded, barely enough room for breathing and certainly not enough room for actual dancing. Donghyuck revels in it, in the sweaty chaos of drunk college students and savours the way the bodies pressed against his, and the bass-heavy music, and the generic dance music, and the vodka leave him no room to think. Thinking is dangerous. Especially when it’s about Jaemin. And that’s all he seems to be thinking about recently.

He’s got assignments that need to be done sitting in his dorm room, and lines to be learnt, and he needs to decide how to act to get through having Jaemin playing his love interest but that all disappears in favour of letting drunkenness take him over like he’s being possessed by a particularly party-loving ghost.

“Attention!” Yukhei’s familiar voice barks and the music cuts out.

Donghyuck, dizzy and teetering on his feet, turns to see Yukhei standing on a table. He grins, a little lopsided, at the sight of his own face plastered on Yukhei’s shirt. It’s a good photo, he thinks. Back from when his hair was silver for his role as a version of  _ West Side Story _ that swapped out the Jets and Sharks for actual physical jets and sharks.

“As you all know,” Yukhei’s words are slurred, but he says them with more than enough enthusiasm to make up for it, “Donghyuck,” he points directly at Donghyuck, who salutes lazily back at him, “and I have battled once more.”

The crowd cheers, and Donghyuck feels Renjun punch him on the shoulder in encouragement. It doesn’t even feel painful through his haze of a mind.

“And unfortunately, I have lost.” There’s another round of unintelligible noise as Yukhei throws his hands up, liquid inside sloshing over the sides of his cup, and looks exaggeratedly sad. Donghyuck laughs freely and he can’t remember why he was supposed to be sad. “And we all know what that means.”

Yukhei looks Donghyuck square in the eyes and downs the rest of his drink.

“Donghyuck Lee is the most talented actor of our generation, possibly of all time,” he recites robotically. “Far better than I can ever hope to be. To Donghyuck!”

“To Donghyuck!” the crowd echoes, and they all drain their respective drinks.

Donghyuck beams as the music starts up again and Yukhei disappears from his sight. He wants to follow him, strike up a conversation or dance with him or whatever but there are people who want to talk to him, congratulate him on his role and Donghyuck indulges them, if only because it feeds his ego.

When he finally escapes from his adoring fans, he breaks from the dancefloor and scours the house for Yukhei. It’s not difficult to find him, considering he towers above most other people but when he does, his mind clears up and his heart feels heavy.

Yukhei’s stood in the kitchen, charming grin in place and a hand balancing him on the counter. In front of him, leaning against said counter, is Jaemin. He’s holding a red cup, dressed in a black button-down and he’s smiling. He looks like the Devil dressed up and Donghyuck has to remind himself that that’s exactly what Jaemin is.

His eyes are a little unfocused, but he still seems very aware as he laughs at one of Yukhei’s jokes, leaning a little into Yukhei’s arm in a movement that’s just a little too unnatural to be accidental.

Donghyuck doesn’t like how he feels just then. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling like that. And he refuses to categorise it as what it so obviously is because he doesn’t want to feel like he does. He watches as Jaemin’s fingers play with the chain around Yukhei’s neck and Yukhei moves just that little bit closer. He feels his skin crawl and remembers how Jaemin used to play with his own hair. When it still had rainbow streaks that he thought made him look quirky, that he’d used to come out to his parents, that Jaemin had helped him dye.

The thought makes him gag and he knows the smart thing to do is remove himself from the situation because being there does him no good but he can’t convince himself to move. He hates this.

Because he’s supposed to be happy right now. And he can’t even find scraps of it within himself. It feels artificial and gross and fake. And the music is too loud but his head feels disturbingly quiet, terrifyingly empty. Hollow.

And it’s bullshit. Anger at himself quickly morphs into anger at Jaemin because it’s so much easier. He watches as Yukhei leans in and he doesn’t stay to watch any longer. Jaemin allowed him to be immature, and Donghyuck’s glad for it because he’s not sure he’d survive if he couldn’t be.

**Author's Note:**

> i really wanted to get this fic finished and posted this weekend but then that just didn't happen but i wanted to post something anyway so i've just decided to split it into two parts and impulse post this 
> 
> also the next part has much more actual nahyuck so i hope you'll stick around for that haha
> 
> if you enjoyed please leave kudos and comments they really make my day !!  
> thank you for reading <333
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/whatisanult)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/whatisanult)


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